There’s a glass house on the hill – resplendent in light.
The fields are green, very luxurious and fresh.
Lights are twinkling and reflecting colourful shards
of pink and red and blue and gold.
They peak and fall away.
I hear bells ringing – softly, gracefully.
Is this a church, calling us to the mountain top?

The sky is a rich blue, with small, white puffs
dotted here and there.
Voices can be heard, singing in harmony –
gentle, uplifting, resonating and ricocheting
against the light frames of glass.

I search the vision for more:
A flag is flying, up high on the mountainside –
it is red on white: a cross.
It dances in the breeze, billowing softly.
A horseman rides up to the beautiful structure…
And dismounts.
Who is this man? He looks like Jesus –
loose-flowing brown curls, a knight’s cape around his shoulders,
a standard-bearer in glittering gold.
He surveys the landscape –
His Majesty clear or all to see.

And He enters in. The horse remains at ease, untethered.
‘Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!’
‘He is here – the Prince of Peace. The King of Kings. The King of Glory!’

I want to climb the hill and enter the Light Palace.
But I struggle and fall.
I struggle and fall.
But I climb towards the light.
He sees me and angel wings carry me to His arms.
I am bathed in extraordinary and energising colours.

He says: ‘Come, my child – you are home.’
JulieHughes (c)poetryFeb2020